Sorrie
((Sorry for the layout. It looks a bazillion time better in MS Word. :<)) This story is part of 'The Skydancer Chronicle. ''The next installment is here: '' Blood Night 'Sorrie' CHILDHOOD IS AN awkward time at best. The young are easily led, struggling to find their footing in a world that, to them, already seems vast and endless as they bound without a care from one end of their street to the other; a momentous journey filled with the trappings of a fluid and unmarred imagination. They know no fear, except the notion of pain as the fall and scrape their knees and palms, an injury remedied mystically by the soothing kisses of their mothers, or the tight embrace of their fathers cradling them against the shoulder. Parents are elevated as gods, their words golden and laced with unquestionable truths; stay away from the fireplace, don’t climb on the furniture, bedtime is at seven. The young never question these things. That is, until, they find friends. Friends carve a path in life that cannot be changed, moved or replaced. The friendships made will forever steer the destiny on the impressionable and naïve youth, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Some friendships only last weeks, or days and have a profound resonance on life thereafter. Others span years, decades, centuries and never come close to such meaning. Friends bring with them insights. Insights into new lives and other ways. There are new games to be had, new rules to be learnt and with time, the friendship runs deeper than the family bond. Some friendships should last an eternity. Through hardships, turmoil and death. Some friendships should be immortalised not only in memory, but in ink so that, one day, when I am long gone, the memory will live. 'Childhood' HIS NAME WAS Thalidien. Thalidian Goldenbough. He was a stranger to me, at first. His parents were acquainted with my parents through trade, and they would on occasion meet over dinner that my mother, or his, would slave over as our fathers drank deeply from a wine bottle and talked about the various properties of various herbs and catalysts. He never visited my house with them, however, and nor I to his. He would be left in the care of his cousins, who lived on the other side of Silvermoon, and I would be palmed off to our neighbour, who insisted that I was a ‘good little treant’ (which still bemuses me to this day), would sit me on her plush, blue recliner and hand me parchment and some charcoal and let me go wild. Much as they remain to this day, my drawing back then were crude and childish. I would draw blobs, with more blobs for eyes, noses and feet and claim that these masterpieces were rabbits, birds or lynxes. She would ruffle my short, platinum hair and tell me how wonderful my imagination was (a contrived compliment if ever I knew one) and as my parents returned she would insist I showed them my night’s work and they, in turn would give a similar reaction to her; the pre-programmed response to keep a child happy when their efforts amount to nothing but ugly scribbles and a charcoal smudged face. It was through these drawings that we met. The area of Silvermoon in which we lived circled a small, but beautiful fountain. It was a trading district, each of the blue-roofed buildings being a shop of some sort, with the living space of the family who owned it on the upper floor. The Goldenbough’s shop was directly opposite mine, but rarely did I venture out into the square. I was a home-bound child. I loved to be indoors, and to be around my father and mother. My mother was the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld, and I worshiped her as though she were an embodiment of Belore herself. I wanted to emulate her actions, her words and her expressions. If she would cook, I would be in the kitchen pretending to make something. If she were penning a letter, I was draw my hand across blank parchment and pretend that I too were writing to someone important, most usual Prince Sunstrider, who I was sure was to take me as his Princess some time in the not-so-distant future. My father was already treating me as that Princess. His only daughter, his precious, beloved daughter. If I were ever in need of praise I would run to him. Similarly, if he were ever in need of a menial task, he would find me and I would be always happy to oblige. On this occasion, however, I was not in my house. In my young, inexperienced mind I had decided it would be fun to adventure into the square, alone, and show the world around me the pictures that had made me famous amongst my household. With tattered parchment in hand I pattered through the quiet square, holding the drawings up to any elf who could spare me the time of day. Most smile and nodded with a polite compliment spoken over my head as I turned and ran to my next victim. This went on for several minutes, me being showered with fake praise before waddling off to find more of these luscious compliments, until I stumbled upon the wrong elf. He sat alone on a bench beside the fountain, his head in a book, notes being scribbled on parchment resting against his lap. I ran up to him, held out my hard work and screamed “look!” He almost jumped out of his skin, making me stagger back in turn. The ink pot he had resting on his books smashed against the floor, and in the space of a few seconds he unleashed his verbal fury upon me. In all my confusion and fear I ran, in no particular direction, screaming a high-pitched wail at the top of my lungs. My cries of terror were cut short as I crashed into the back of another small being, sending him hurtling head over heals into the fountain he was watching so intensely. With him, went my picture, soaked and ruined in the gently sloshing water around him. I could feel the faces turned and looking at me now. Looking at me, and the poor young boy who was soaked to his skin in the shallows of the fountain. He pushed himself up, spluttering and splashing the warm waters over me as he flailed. Standing knee high in the stilling waters, unmoving as a statue, he stared at me and then, to my horror, started to cry. This triggered something deep within me that had been welling since I had been shouted at by the ink-man and came to a head as I stared at my afternoon’s work going soggy and sinking. As if triggering a chain reaction I too began to bawl and wail at the top of my immature voice. It wasn’t long before the commotion had alerted my parents, and his. The Skydancers and the Goldenbows met in the middle of the square, shared embarrassed glances and hurried their children back to their respective homes. IT WAS LATE in the evening by the time I had been sufficiently calmed down and told in stern words not to go out by myself again. The arcane clock read ten minutes past seven, and I was already getting cranky from being awake a full lifetime past my bedtime, yet both my father and mother insisted that I be dragged across the square to apologise to the Goldenweave’s son for my sins. In my night robe and tiny sandals I went, one hand clasped in my father’s stern grip, the other clinging tight to my green rag doll. He knocked on their door for me, and dragged me aside as I tried my very best to hide behind his leg. I didn’t know these people, or their young son who had just happened to be in my way as I was running for my life. I didn’t want to apologise for getting him wet. If anything, I felt he should have been apologising to me for getting my picture ruined! As if some mental link had been made between the older elves, the door opened to reveal the mirror image of myself. The young son clinging onto his father’s hand, a wooden toy sword on the other. He glared at me, or tried to glare in the only way a child knows how and I became sorely tempted to stick out my tongue. Instead, my ears twitched. We stood in silence for a few moments, before my father dragged me a few steprs forward and prompted me. “What do you have to say, Soraya?” I mumbled something that I’m fairly certain wasn’t “sorry.” My father shot me a sharp gaze. “Sorry,” I managed a little louder, scuffing my feet. “What’s your name? I’m Thaladien.” His reply was unexpected and strange, but caught my attention. I hesitated, before informing him I was named Soraya. He giggled a little, and rocked on the balls of his feet. “It’s not a funny name!” I protested. “Sorry Sorrie!” he blurted at me, then giggled again. Even my father coughed out a small chuckle at his play on words. I, on the other hand was bemused. Never before had anyone called me anything but my full and proper name. This monstrosity of a nickname simply wouldn’t do! Nevertheless, despite me telling him on several occasions over the passing minutes as our fathers chatted quietly that ‘Sorrie’ wasn’t in fact my name, he just kept on, like a broken Arcane Guardian: “Sorry Sorrie! Sorry Sorrie! Sorry Sorrie!” I HAD NO intention of being Thaladien’s friend. On the contrary, he had destroyed my picture, made me stay up a full thirty minutes past my allotted bedtime and adorned me with a name which I neither approved of nor appreciated. Nevertheless, as if our parents had considered the ice to be sufficiently broken, they insisted that we continued to spend time together. If I needed looking after, no longer would I go to my neighbour, but rather to Thaladien’s house so I could play with an elf my own age. Our first few meetings were beyond awkward. He was far more open to the idea than I, and would prance around me with his wooden sword in hand, apologising that he only had the one and offering to go and find me a stick. On one occasion, the stick was already sitting and waiting for me on the floor of his living room, some thread attached crudely to either end. “Sorrie!” My ears twitched at him. “You can play Farstrider!” he informed me merrily, gesturing to the bow. I informed him that I had no desire to be a Farstrider and that my natural talents were far more suited to being a Magistrix. Being a bitch was paramount, and I had mastered that skill from a young age. He shrugged at me an took the makeshift bow for himself . Despite me telling him for what must have been the third time that week that I disliked playing ‘Elves vs. Trolls’, we still both ran around his small room until we were exhausted; him pinging his thread-strung stick and me wafting my hands and blabbering made up words as if I had been possessed. I almost grew to like his games as our meetings became more regular. I certainly found myself with a softened disposition towards Thaladien. He was constantly kind to me, and constantly smiling. Even with my somewhat clumsy disposition, he wouldn’t become angry, or shout at me. I would tell him I was sorry for breaking his wooden figurines, his chair, his bow and he would take an immense pleasure in me saying the word as he had done the very first time we spoke. “We’re best friends!” he told me one day. I was confused. Naturally, we were best friends. I had no other friends and so he was best by default. Did he have other friends? Who where they and why was I, in comparison, alone? I couldn’t figure out then what seems so clear to me now with the gift of hindsight. He was outgoing, and I was not. Where he would seek contact, I would shy away and instead help my father and mother, or as I aged, busy myself with studies which I didn’t understand. It is a trait which I carry to this day, and one which I’m grateful that Thaladien understood. He would never tell me so, but he knew that he was the only friend I had, and despite me often screaming at him, throwing strops and making a mess of his room, I was his best friend. 'Learning to Live' MY DAUGHTER REMAINS an enigma to me. She had always been awkward as a child. Very clingy of her mother, and perhaps even more so of me. I had hoped that, with age, she would have grown out of that but it seems as though time is merely reinforcing her unsocial behaviour. I wonder, often, if there is anything more I should have done as a father to branch her out into the world. Did I shelter her too much? Have I spoiled her by keeping her close under my wing? When she is indoors with me, sorting through me cabinets of herbs and vials, her hair unkempt and her clothes so casual they’re almost humanly rugged, my mind strays to the other girls of her age. These girls, I have no doubt, would be wandering the woodlands, or the sweeping streets of the city, finding their footing in the world of adults they will be joining soon enough, catching the eyes of young, possible suitors, attending balls and excelling in their fields of study. Soraya, does none of this and I wonder, often, if I have failed her. I hope that either Verlanna or young Thaladien can do something for her which I cannot. Verlanna can give the mother’s touch and if that fails, they young boy is all she has. The problem I dread now is that I am all too aware of their age. He is charming, that much is clear. I only wonder if Soraya sees it, or if she even has an interest. This is a strange feeling, diary. My little girl is growing up, and it isn’t like anything I had imagined. I HAD DEVELOPED into something which I considered to be ghastly, and which I remain uneasy about to this day. The onset of puberty had hit me like hard like stampeding horse. To my young mind, already struggling to get to grips with the ever building pressures of the world around me, it seemed as though my body had changed overnight. Where I was once a petite, frail image of a girl, my limbs had extended and caused me to stumble as I walked. I had become rounded, feeling almost fat at times (although the concept of such thing s amongst my kind is ridiculous, I know), with my body developing at a rate which I simply couldn’t account for. Naturally, these things had taken time. But to me, who had failed to keep track of them until it were all but too late, it seemed like an instant. Thaladien had no such problems as I did. In fact, he seemed to take his growth in his stride. Not only was he developing physically into a handsome young male, but his childish charm and ever-present friendliness developed along with him. If there were anyone to make themselves the centre of attention with witty banter and charismatic smiles, it was Thaladien. He wasn’t like this around me, though. That is to say; he didn’t make the extra effort. For whatever reasons, I didn’t receive the forced smiles or the endless stream of compliments about how lovely my hair looked or how deep and captivating my eyes were. I wouldn’t tell him so, but I found this confusing and unsettling. My mind decided that there could only be two reasons for his behaviour towards me: One; we were already too close and he didn’t feel the need to have to try so hard with me. We were best friends, and I didn’t need the silly compliments. And two; my hair was not lovely and my eyes were not deep and captivating. I preferred option one. There had been a time a when we were both discovering puberty and all its wonders where he was simply enthralled with me. I don’t believe it were truly a sexual attraction, but rather the projection of a young elf’s libido on the only target he was comfortable with. “You look nice!” he has said to me one day when we were on our way to a seminar by the lake. I followed his gaze which was teetering awkwardly between my face and my breasts. Unused to such attentions at the time I snorted a short giggle at him. If he had done the same a few years later, my palm would have collided with his face. As it was, however, this seemed a compliment of the highest degree. Neither of us understood sex, or what it involved, beyond a boy and a girl and something to do with these twitchy, fluttery feelings that were driving us both insane, but were too private to speak of. A boy was complimenting me, a girl. It was a start. As time passed it became readily apparent that beyond this easy feeling that hung between us through years of association and bonding, there was no real sexual vibe. At least not on his behalf. Unlike him, who was sociable almost beyond belief, I would rarely venture outside of his company. The more I developed, the more I became uncomfortable with my body. I found that around others, I looked strangely un-elven with the curves that graced my figure and if Thaladien were out of earshot I would often hear snide remarks about how my father must have been a human, or how ungracefully dresses flowed across my form. Thaladien wouldn’t say it to me, but I knew his tastes were the same as theirs. Whereas he had been fascinated with me once, he grew to appreciate the typically slender form of our people. I assured myself I didn’t care of such things. Yet the flow of time slipped past us, and whilst I remained alone and uncomfortable, Thaladien was beginning his sexual exploration. “I can’t see you tonight, Sorrie,” he would say. “Jalrissa is visiting.” My ears twitched. I had to stick a thorn in his side. “What happened to Sandrina?” She was the girl the week before. He simply laughed, as though I were making a joke out of it all and reached out to ruffle my hair, grinning his stupid, infectious grin. “They come and go, Sorrie. They come and go.” MY MOTHER AND I weren’t how I had planned as a child. We were not, in fact, the same person in different bodies. All my imitations of her had been for naught. She, still, was a beautiful, elegant and collected woman. I, on the other hand, was feverishly shy, clumsy and uncomfortable in my own skin. Nevertheless I still loved her dearly, and when Thaladien wasn’t available to talk, because he was with others or, on occasion, I simply couldn’t discuss the subject with him, she would be my first port of call. “Maybe you should put on a nice dress once in a while,” she advised me on the subject of attracting males. I looked at her as though she were insane. “You know I don’t like how I look in them,” I reminded her. “I think you look lovely!” she chirped at me, looking as though she were going to pinch my cheek as she had done when I were little. “Well, I don’t.” “Oh, Sorrie, you’ll end up alone like this,” she sighed and sat on the end of my bed. “Don’t call me that!” I snapped at her, the prospect of being alone not even registering. “Thaladien calls you Sorrie all the time!” “He’s allowed. It was his idea.” She stuck around my room for a while, an uneasy silence between us as I fiddled with the bits and pieces on my dresser. There was a hairbrush, various hairclips of many different shades of blue, a hairband (also blue) and some, unsurprisingly, blue nail varnish. These were my attempts at being the girl I should be an in the right combination, in the right clothes, they worked. I wasn’t the monstrosity of unsightly shapes that I viewed myself as. I was certainly not average in my build, but I also had no reason to hide myself away as I did, besides my own insecurities. “Have you decided on a career yet?” The subject was tactfully changed. “No,” I spoke truthfully. I wasn’t the brightest of the elves my age. I attended all of the educational functions I could, and I paid attention well. I simply wasn’t gifted where it mattered in society. I had no aptitude for wielding the arcane past a mediocre level. I found books to be generally tedious, and struggled to get through them at a decent pace. I hadn’t so much as considered a future in the military, unlike Thaladien who was certain it was where he wanted to be. He didn’t try hard at anything, feeling it to be a waste of his time since his mind was made up. Nevertheless I still knew her surpassed me in almost every way. I know, because as I leaned over my books and parchment and groaned at my aching head, he would lean across to me and whisper me answers. Once, he kissed me on the cheek and told me I’d do just fine. I flushed a deep crimson and had to excuse myself from Magister Dawnsinger’s pond-side lecture to calm myself down. It was around this time I had become certain that something had changed in our relationship. Still, as we saw each other daily, sometimes for hours on end, and talked about all the nonsense of our confusing, young lives, we silently pretended that I wasn’t attracted to him and that he was perfectly okay with it. 'Into the Fire' My Dearest Sorrie, It seems all those rumours of war in the human lands were true! Can you believe it? Word around the Ranger Corps is that it won’t ever reach Quel’Thalas, so we have nothing to worry about. Especially not you, holed up in Silvermoon with your parents still! I still can’t understand why you just stayed working for Jaritas! Don’t get me wrong. Sorrie, your father has been good to me and I don’t mean to speak lowly of being a store-owner. But don’t you ever think you could have done better? You could have been an artist with those drawing skills of yours! I’m stationed around Goldenmist Village for the next few days. Maybe you could pop down, pretend you need some shopping? It would be nice to see you for a change. It feel like years already. Say, isn’t it your birthday soon? I promise to get you something nice. Maybe a Troll trinket. A memento of your brave best friend, Thaladien Goldenbough, Defender of Quel’Thalas, Slayer of Trolls and Beloved of the Female Species (Especially Those with Names Beginning with ‘S’) I look forward to seeing you! With love, Thal. ________________ Dear Sorrie, I wasn’t ‘pulling your ears’ when I said about your drawings! I think you draw rabbits with a passion, and capture them in a light no life-artist ever could! And no, the girl beginning with ‘S’ isn’t Sandrina. I haven’t seen Sandrina in years, you know that. And Sun knows she’s not cut out to be a Farstrider. I wish you were. You should have taken me up on it, we could have been out in the woodlands together, getting dirty in the thickets. Oh, and shooting Trolls, too. Hah! It’s a shame you never made it to Goldenmist. Tell your mother I hope she feels better soon so that she can release her daughter from her bedside. I miss you. I have no one here to pick on who won’t get too offended. I miss poking your nose, and flicking your ears because, you know, when you hit me back it didn’t hurt! Except that time with my nose. Please don’t do that again! And what do you mean you don’t want anything for your birthday? I know you’re getting old, Sorrie, but that’s no reason not to celebrate. What about some clothes? I know just the thing for you! One of the girls here, she says “give it a few years, green will be the new blue!” Do you think so too? Shall I get you something green? I think it’d bring out your hair, whatever that actually means. By the way. Talk is that Lady Windrunner is getting edgy. They say she thinks we might be in trouble if we don’t do something soon. I’m excited! My regiment will be one of the first to go if she calls for war! You’ll be praying for me, won’t you, Sorrie? Much love, Thally (you like it?) ________________ Soraya, I’m leaving you in run of the shop for a few days whilst I have some business to attend to. Your mother is coming with me, so you’ll be alone. You’re nearly an adult now, I hope I can trust you with this! I would tell you not to bring any young men home in my absence, but the sun will stop shining before that happens anyway. There’s food in the pantry. Your mother informs me you still can’t cook for yourself. Try not to starve. We’ll be back soon. Don’t break anything! Your Father. ________________ Sorrie, Sorry, I don’t have long to write this. Alleria Windrunner is insistant we have to move to help the Alliance, and we’re being called out to aid her. Can you believe that? Me, aiding Alleria Windrunner! I hope I get to see her, I hear she’s beautiful and feral all at once. Oh, and Thally isn’t a stupid name! And I don’t care if you don’t like green! Stop treading on my ideas, girl! You’re so difficult sometimes! Thaladien. ________________ They razed the woods! Sorrie! Write to me! Write to me! As soon as you get this! I need to know you’re safe! ________________ Sora, I’m glad you’re safe. I wish I could say the same for me, but everything’s changed. I take it back. I take everything back I said about you joining the Farstriders. I never want you to see war. If they ever come for you and try and pull you in, run away. Run the fel away! Everyone’s dead, Sora. The orcs and the trolls killed so many. I’m lucky to be alive! Windrunner lost almost her entire family, and now things are looking terrible. I would have said she’s gone insane, but I agree with her. These pigs have to die! I’m going to slaughter every last one of them! Your birthday will have to wait. I don’t know when this will be over. T ________________ Dear Soraya, This may be the last letter I’m able to write to you, so there are some things I have to say before I leave. We’re heading to some portal. They say it leads to the world of the orcs, and we’re going to hunt them all till they’re destroyed and then burn their homes like they burnt ours. I may never see you again. Why did you spend so long hiding away and being shy? You’re beautiful, Soraya. And you’re kind and funny, but you just never saw it. I wish I could have made you feel better and taken you out of your shell. You missed so much. We missed so much! I would have loved you. Please, Sorrie. Don’t waste any more of your life. Go out, meet people. Wear blue, because it brings out your eyes. Don’t rot away in your father’s store. Do something better! Promise me you will never join the military, though. You should never see war. Send me something before the end of the month. Anything. I love you, Sorrie. Thaladien. ________________ Miss Soraya Adalia Dwin’urdrenn, It is with heavy hearts that the Silvermoon Farstider Ranger Corps regrets to inform you that Thaladien Goldenbough is missing in action, presumed dead in the land beyond the portal, along with all who ventured bravely forth. It was in his Will that you be informed immediately of his death, and that the following items be disclosed to you. Attached to this letter you will find: 1x Golden ring, sapphire stud. 1x Parchment drawing 1x Letter addressed to Ranger Thaladien Goldenbough. Non-received. 1x Charchol picture addressed to Ranger Thaladien Goldenbough. Non-received. Should any of these items be missing, please inform us as soon as possible. Our deepest condolences, Ranger-Captain L. Featherleaf. Silvermoon Farstider Ranger Corps. 'The End of Innocence' I CAN’T REMEMBER the last time I heard her voice. Or felt her body against mine, her breath caressing the skin of my neck, even as she hugged me goodbye. The war had taken me away from her. It had taken me so far away that, even if I picked a direction and walked for a thousand-thousand years I would be no closer or no further away from her side. The moment we had stepped through the Dark Portal into this world my heart had broken. I was convicted in my duty, and steadfast in my cause. What I was doing, I was doing for the good of my parents, my friends and for her. Yet, I had put it off as long as I could, waiting, ever waiting for her word. It haunts me every day to think that maybe another day, another hour, another minute and a courier would have come with a letter, a picture, a locket. Anything I could have taken with me to remind me of her. That isn’t to say I have nothing at all. That’s far from the truth. Her letters, each and every one of them are kept bound together in my footlocker. I read one every night before I sleep, sometimes pressing the parchment to my face to catch even the vaguest hint of her smell on the page, the traces of her wrist brushing from left to right as she penned every delicate word. “You’re crazy, you know that?” My bunk partner imparted me with his wisdom. “Sniffing letter from some girl who doesn’t even love you keeps you alive? That’s crazy.” I resisted cracking his nose. “She loves me.” “She never even wrote you back, Thal.” “Then what are these?” I shook her letters at him. “Old letters. She never sent you the one that mattered, did she? You scared her off.” “It never reached me,” I pointed out the difference, forever the optimist. He shook his head and pulled himself back up to his bunk. I couldn’t tell if he were fed up with me, or if the blood flowing to his brain were getting too much. Our dingy room hung in silence again for a few moments. I rustled through my letters. “Neraline is nice,” he spoke into the stillness of the room. I left him in silence. “Neraline is nice. Maybe you should fuck her?” “I don’t want to fuck her. You fuck her.” “I have. You need to fuck somebody, though. If I have to hear you mumbling sweet nothings about this Soraya again when you think I’m sleeping, I’m going to have to cut it off.” I laughed for the first time that night. "You’ve never been in love, have you?” "Not with someone who doesn't love me back." “She does love me.” “Yeah,” he snorted. “And she’s on another planet.” “I’ll see her again.” “Goodnight, Thal.” I heard him sigh heavily and the springs of his mattress creaked as her turned to lat facing the wall. “I’ll see her again,” I insisted, as if convincing myself. I blew out my candle and lay on my back, staring into the darkness and wondering if she were still a virgin. HER ROOM DID not have a lock on it. In fact, she never had a door. Merely a thick drape that separated her little living space away from the rest of the house. Nevertheless, it was abundantly clear that from the day she received the news of Thaladien’s death, she didn’t want to see anyone, not even her mother. I often found myself standing just outside of her bedroom. I would take a book, or some work that needed tending to and stay there for what seemed like hours. Sometimes, it was silence, as though there were no one in there at all. Sometimes there was heavily sobbing, so deep and so uncontrollable it was almost contagious. I felt as though if I listened for longer than five minutes I too would have to share in her grief and cry until I had nothing left. At other times, she would throw things. I could hear glass smash, wood crack or the tumble of various items onto the floor. I hated these times the most. I had never known my Soraya to be an angry girl, and I dared not think the state in which she left her room after this fits of rage. “Soraya,” I would call after her. Not once did she give me a response. “Soraya, you have to come out of your room one day.” I don’t remember how long she stayed in there. She came out for necessary things; to eat, drink and go to the toilet but she would do each so briefly that I never managed a good look at her. She hid herself behind her hair, keeping the thick curtains of matted blonde tresses across her features as if to hide herself from the world. She would pick up her plate, not utter a word and take it back to her room. A few minutes later the half-finished meal would be slid out from her doorway, waiting for me to pick up. I decided that enough was enough. I didn’t prepare her a meal. She came to collect it like clockwork and simply stood, staring at the table where she usually found her plate. Minutes past and she didn’t move an inch, just staring. I held my husband’s hand as I watched her, our daughter, reduced to a confused, catatonic wreck. Eventually, her shoulder bunched and I could see her begin to shake. She started crying, the same heavy sobs which I had heard from her room countless times before. Slowly, she turned to face us both and we got the first good look at her in what felt like an age. She had thinned out, the lack of food taking its toll on her body. Her features were drawn and gaunt, not so much from the weight she had lost (it wasn’t that significant) but rather from exhaustion. She looked as though she hadn’t slept in days, and as a result no longer possessed the youthful features of one on the cusp of adulthood. Her eyes, even beneath the pale glow, were clearly sore and bloodshot. It was an unusual thing to see on an elf, and it only increased my concern for her. She was dressed in blue. The same clothes, I noticed, that I had seen her in every day. They were dirty now, stained with tears, food and in some places, flecks of blood, no doubt where she had hurt herself in her temper. She wore too much jewellery, every piece of it blue. Earring, a hairband, around seven necklaces, bracelets, an anklet. On her finger, her wedding finger, was a ring I had never seen before. She took staggering, slow steps towards me, as though every movement pained her greatly. Then, she fell onto her knees, so hard I felt they might break, and flopped her face into my lap, staining my dress with her tears. “He’s dead!” she managed to blurt through staggered breaths. My heart broke for her, my poor little girl, and I felt I could do nothing but bursh my hand through her matted hair as my other squeezed tightly to my husband’s. “He’s dead, and he’s never coming back!” I LOVED HIM. There is no plainer way I can say it than that. I don’t wear his ring anymore, the memory of what it means to me made it weigh like a burden on my soul. I felt relieved taking it off. Relieved and also selfish that I couldn’t wear it for him. I see no reason to ramble on any longer about what he meant to me, and how much I miss him, even now so many things have changed. Rather, I can leave you with this; the strained words of a young girl in love, which he will never read: ''Thaladien, '' I’m sorry I hadn’t told you sooner. I love you. I have loved you for years. Come back to me. It’s hard to get by without my best friend by my side. You can play the Farstrider and I can be the Magistrix. '' '' I miss you, Thal. Please be safe, for me.'' '' All my love,'' '' Sorrie. ''